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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703910">Center Stage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_sapphic/pseuds/angel_sapphic'>angel_sapphic</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FurmeWolfy/pseuds/FurmeWolfy'>FurmeWolfy</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gone238/pseuds/gone238'>gone238</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforaflame/pseuds/waitingforaflame'>waitingforaflame</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Dance, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, romantic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:35:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703910</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_sapphic/pseuds/angel_sapphic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FurmeWolfy/pseuds/FurmeWolfy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gone238/pseuds/gone238, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforaflame/pseuds/waitingforaflame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s where I know you from! The audition,” Adora explains. It takes Catra a moment to connect the dots, but she remembers the other blonde and bristles slightly. The cute blonde was… Adora. Peachy. “I’m so sorry, I meant to introduce myself then, but I was just so overwhelmed— You get it, don’t you? One day you’re the top of your class at your shitty ballet school and then suddenly…” she trails off, flushing pink. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous.”</p><p>Shit. She’s cuter when she rambles. “It’s okay,” Catra waves her off. “Sometimes I can’t believe it either.”</p><p>--</p><p>A Catradora Ballet AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow &amp; Glimmer (She-Ra), Catra/Scorpia (She-Ra)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Life Doesn't Hold Auditions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This beautiful story is a collaboration between myself (ArielHorn10), Ari (@angel_sapphic), Loki (@FurmeWolfy), and Rosie (@catraclism). It came about after watching 'Center Stage' together, and this fic was born. We've had such a wonderful time writing it, and we hope everyone likes it as much as we do. To my collaborators: thank you for being such an amazing team! To the readers: from the bottom of our hearts, please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every so often, Catra glances up at the subway car's windows, anxiously awaiting her stop. She can't help the unease; too many times she's gotten lost in her music and forgot she was supposed to get off. Of course, the natural solution was to be more attentive, turn down her music, and keep a lookout.   </p><p>This is the New York subway, however, so being without music isn't really an option. The amount of noise alone would give Catra a migraine for days. So instead, she turns up the volume on her headphones and drowns out the noise with the familiar strings of Tchaikovsky. </p><p>She closes her eyes, letting the nostalgic music wash over her and set her mind at ease. Her hands twitch, already forming into the graceful finger placement that took her years to perfect. In tune with the music, Catra purses her lips and imagines the little steps, dancing the choreography to the past spring's performance of Swan Lake inside her head. </p><p>Of course, she hadn't performed as Odette, nor Odile; she'd been placed in the corps, thanks to her frequent tardiness. </p><p>It isn't that she doesn't care; quite the opposite, really. Every second in ballet class was something to be savored. At first, it was something her foster mother had placed her in, hoping the abundance of grace and femininity would quell her violent spurts of anger. Later on, it became something different. An escape, of sorts. Somewhere that she could go and lose herself in the music. A place where she was actually <em> good </em>at something. </p><p>And yet, more often than not, she is late to class. Every teacher she'd ever had ended up giving her the same lecture. She is talented, abundantly so. But without the proper discipline, she would never make it as a ballet dancer. Every time she hears this lecture, Catra grits her teeth and shoves the words somewhere that she doesn't have to feel them. </p><p>The song ends, and so does the dance in her head. A glance at the list of stops tells her that hers is next, so she pulls herself from her seat in preparation. Catra grabs the pole, fights the natural instinct to do barre warmups on the subway, and waits for the automated doors to open. When they do, she brushes past the overeager passengers and heads upstairs to the exit. </p><p>It would be good to see Scorpia again; it had been a few months since they'd last been able to hang out in person. To her credit, Scorpia always tried to call and made the effort to schedule some type of outing, but her schedule grew too busy and unpredictable to always be able to follow through. Catra doesn't hold it against her; if she went to Bright Moon, she wouldn't make time for anyone outside either. </p><p>The tiny, pestering voice in her head reminded her that she could have gone to Bright Moon if she hadn't flaked at the last minute. </p><p>Just like every other time the voice comes up, she shoots it down, gripping the strap of her backpack a little tighter. She wasn't good enough for Bright Moon; they never would have accepted her. A far too familiar memory tugs at Catra's mind, but she refuses to acknowledge it. Not today. Not when she had to put on a happy front for Scorpia. </p><p>The walk to the cafe is short, and Catra appreciates it. She'd lived in New York for four years now, and she still isn't used to the muggy, oppressive heat that the summer brings. She hates New York. The winters are too damn cold, the summers too damn hot. The only time she feels at ease is a couple of weeks at the end of September. </p><p>Still, there is something about the city that Catra feels suits her. And deep down, try as she might to claim that this city has nothing for her, it does hold something: ballet. The moment she was placed in her new home, she scrambled to find a part-time job that would afford her enough to put her in classes all year. Octavia, her foster mother, hadn't been too thrilled with it, but since Catra was paying for it, what could she do? Catra had learned that lesson early on. </p><p>Once arriving at the cafe, she glances down at her phone. A text from Scorpia tells her that she'd gotten them a table outside, so Catra shifts her backpack on her shoulder and makes her way towards the back of the cafe. Within seconds, she spots Scorpia, her platinum hair turned white in the sun. </p><p>"Hey," she says, dropping down to the chair without ceremony. "It's hot as balls out here."</p><p>Scorpia grins. "You say that every summer." </p><p>"Well, it's true." Catra opens her backpack and pulls out a carton of cigarettes and a black lighter, ignoring the grimace Scorpia gives her. "You order coffee?"</p><p>"Trying to cut back. Iced tea," she notes, dangling her glass in front of Catra. "Got you an iced latte, though. It should be here in a bit."</p><p>Catra plucks a cigarette from the carton, lighting it up and taking a deep drag. The smoke fills her, biting at her insides but providing the much-needed relief that she craves. "Cool. Thanks," she breathes, puffing out the smoke away from Scorpia's face. "So, how's Bright Moon?"</p><p>"It's great, really." Scorpia's grin is infectious, and Catra has to fight hard to reciprocate, smiling just as widely as a result. "The summer intensive was brutal, but really helped me hone my technique. I can't wait to show off," she explains, flexing a little. This time, Catra does smile. </p><p>It was hard to believe that two years ago, Catra and Scorpia had attended the same school. Same age, same skill level, but Scorpia was the one who had been accepted into the Bright Moon Dance Academy. Now she spent her days learning from the masters, working on her technique, and perfecting her technique while Catra remained exactly where she was. </p><p>"Cool," Catra says because that's all that she can say. What was she supposed to say? 'That's so awesome, Scorpia'? 'I'm super fucking jealous of you, but congrats!'? Yeah, neither of those were going to fly. She takes another long inhale of the cigarette, letting the smoke burn her throat to try and cover up the lump she feels forming. </p><p>Scorpia smiles, understanding Catra's response. "How are your ballet classes going?"</p><p>She shrugs, leaning back in her seat. "The same, really. I mean I love it, I just…" Her eyes move downward. She loves her classes, more than anything. But with high school over, her days of dancing ballet were numbered. "It's too easy for me," Catra finishes instead, shrugging after. Scorpia didn't need to hear her sob story, even if she did want to get into it.</p><p>"Funny you should say that!" Scorpia grins, an easygoing smile that betrays nothing. That's the thing about Scorpia, she smiles because she means it; not to cover up anything. "I have something for you."</p><p>"Yeah?" The waiter arrives with Catra's iced latte, so she finishes her cigarette, tosses it to the ground and stamps it out under the heel of her sneaker. While she takes a quick sip of her coffee, Scorpia digs around in her bag before pulling out a slightly wrinkled flyer. </p><p>Catra raises a brow, leaning forward in her seat to look. All it took was the first sentence for a scowl to rise on her face. She shoves the flyer back to Scorpia, narrowing her eyes and already itching for another cigarette. "Not happening."</p><p>"Why not?" Scorpia asks, her brow furrowing. "We both know you're dying to get in." </p><p>"Drop it, Scorpia." Catra succumbs to her urge, pulling out another cigarette from the carton. Before she can light it, Scorpia snatches it out of her hand, holding it behind her back. </p><p>"I won't drop it," she says, all traces of joking now gone. "You're auditioning."</p><p>Catra scoffs. "I highly doubt you can make me."</p><p>"Why are you so hell-bent on fighting this? You think I don't hear the longing in your voice? How you push me away every time we talk?" Another scoff, but Scorpia isn't relenting. "It's not a bad thing to want something, Catra." </p><p>Wasn't it, though? Every time she so much as wanted something, an obstacle stood in her path. Mental, physical, it didn't matter. Catra had spent too many nights this year living in regret, wanting it so badly that her whole body ached. She was tired of fighting. Tired of being the only person trying to lift herself up when everyone else was so intent on pushing her down. </p><p>She takes a cool, even breath. "You don't know what I want."</p><p>"I know you want to audition," Scorpia insists. "I just don't understand what's holding you back. You're talented, Catra. One of the most talented dancers I know." </p><p>"You're just saying that."</p><p>This time it is Scorpia's turn to scoff. She holds a hand to her chest, her forehead scrunching in obvious hurt. "Have I ever come off as someone willing to skirt the truth? I may be nice, but I'm not <em> that </em> nice." </p><p>Catra cracks a grin. She can't deny that even if she tries. Scorpia is a wonderful human being, but she's also a shit liar. Back in High School, she would often make the mistake of having Scorpia cover for her when she was running late to classes. There hadn't been a single time when the excuse had worked. </p><p>"Look," she drawls before taking another sip of her coffee. She lets the flavor linger and takes her time in swallowing before continuing. "Even if I wanted to audition, and I don't… I'd never been able to afford it. Tuition is mad expensive."  </p><p>"Low-Income students with exceptional circumstances can apply for a scholarship. Room and board," Scorpia explains, nearly jumping at the thought of her considering. "You really think my moms could afford the tuition?"</p><p>"True." Catra mulls it over, playing the scene in her head again. She sees herself now, clad in black with sheer tights and perfect pink shoes, practicing her warmups looking out at the New York City skyscrapers. The scene changes, and now she's in white, gliding across the floor in a perfect string of pearls that would make any dancer jealous. </p><p>And then it shifts completely, and all that's left is her on the floor, shouted at by a distant memory telling her she would never succeed, never be good enough, never, never— </p><p>Catra clutches the glass in her hands, letting out a shaky breath. "I appreciate the gesture, Scorpia. But trust me… I'm not what they're looking for," she finishes, unable to help the defeat that creeps into her voice.</p><p>"Do you really believe that?"</p><p>The question is enough to snap Catra out of her sudden trance. Nobody had challenged her thoughts so directly before. She swallows, twirling a sweaty, matted strand of hair around her finger. The truth is, she doesn't even know. But she's definitely too scared to find out.</p><p>Scorpia accepts her silence as a response, nodding and taking her drink in her hand. "I get it. But do something for me?"</p><p>"And what's that?"</p><p>Her friend smiles, pushing the flyer towards her once again, taking her hand from across the table and giving it a gentle, reaffirming squeeze. "Just think about it… Okay, Wildcat? It would be nice to have you around more often."</p><hr/><p>It's just as she had imagined.</p><p>Adora lingers at the entrance of the studio, ordering herself to savor the moment. No matter what comes of today, she wants to remember every moment of it, starting with the sheer perfection of the room. Hesitantly, she steps inside, grinning as the wooden floor creaks under her weight. She'd be dancing on the floor soon enough, adding to its wonderful wear. </p><p>The studio looks exactly like how she'd pictured it. Floor to ceiling windows adorn the back half of the room, betraying the perfect view of the New York City skyline that she thought only existed in movies. She can't believe she's standing here, about to audition for one of the best ballet schools in the country. Ballet was familiar to her, natural even, but this all feels so foreign. So out of reality with everything she'd ever known.  </p><p>She takes a deep breath, trying to center herself, but it fails. Even the <em> smell </em> is like a fantasy. It smells like something delicate. A porcelain doll, or an old library, maybe. It bothers her that she can't think of another way to put it.</p><p>"You're blocking the doorway." </p><p>That did it. Adora snaps right back to reality, muttering a hasty apology before moving aside so that other people could enter. She watches as they flock together, picking just the right spot in the room before proceeding with their warm up routines. They weren't nervous. Not like her.</p><p>Adora makes up her mind to pull herself together and settles on a spot on the left side of class, nestling herself on the floor with her duffel. It doesn't matter if this is the most perfect ballet studio she's ever set eyes on. She can't let the fantasy cloud her audition; this was her one chance, and she has to make the most of it.</p><p>When she got the news that Bright Moon Academy was having open auditions, she lost her mind. Not too long ago, she'd decided her heart was set on becoming a professional dancer, so it couldn't have been more of a sign. Bright Moon is an entirely different world from her current school. The paint isn't peeling on the walls here, nor are there scratches in the mirrors or dents in the floor. Bright Moon is serious, and so is she.</p><p>She spreads her legs to stretch them out, opening her yellow gym bag. Adora still remembers the day her Abuela had presented it to her, a gift for her seventeenth birthday to celebrate getting cast as the lead in The Nutcracker. She digs around in it and finally pulls out her worn ballet slippers, steadying herself by starting her pre-ballet checklist. </p><p>Routine would settle her down and quell the butterflies in her stomach. Or so she tells herself. Adora steals a glance at the other dancers. Most of them seem to know each other, likely auditioning from the same schools, trying to work their way onto bigger and better. </p><p>When her shoes are on, she tests them out on the wooden floor. They feel normal, perfect. </p><p>As she starts to stretch, she notices that the other girls are all wearing skirts, pink and sheer, and perfectly matching their crisp pink shoes. Adora grimaces, trying not to let the anxiety get to her. It didn't matter what outfit she chose to wear, right? The teachers were here to look at her dancing, not her clothes. </p><p>Still, maybe she should have brought a backup outfit.</p><p>In usual circumstances, Adora didn't consider herself an anxious person. Auditions, however, had that effect on her. Too many nights before an audition, she'd be sick to her stomach, practicing in her bedroom for hours just to work out the nerves. She does the same here. Once her shoes feel right, she pushes herself to her feet and practices a few pliés, making sure those are normal before proceeding to and stretch out her feet. </p><p>Bright Moon was an elite academy, the top at the top. You could enter at the age of sixteen, but you only had until age nineteen to make it. At eighteen, that left her with one year. One year to impress the teachers and show them that she deserved a spot in their ballet company. No pressure. Adora worked well under pressure. Her competition would be fierce, but she could be tougher.</p><p>Even so, the doubts creep into her mind. Her shoes feel a little worn, and Adora tries to recall when she last replaced them. Maybe six or seven months ago? That's too much time without a replacement. She could already feel the thinness of the material near her toes. The straps were pilling, and the once-pink fabric had long ago dulled to a distant gray. What if her toes poked through during a piqué?  </p><p>The door to the studio shuts closed, and the idle gossip and chatter immediately dissipate. At the front of the classroom are the teachers, having entered amidst all the chaos. Most of them sit down into chairs in front of the mirrors, holding their papers and pens, waiting to be impressed, but one woman remains standing, watching them all. </p><p>She clears her throat, a light and graceful sound, before smiling at the group. "Welcome to Bright Moon Academy," she begins. "We are so pleased that you've decided to audition for us."</p><p>While she speaks, Adora runs a last-minute checkup. She gently grasps at her head, trying to feel any loose hair strands from her bun. When that's done, she fixes her tights, smooths down her leotard, and— Crap. Crap! She forgot to clip her candidate number onto the front of her leotard. </p><p>The woman at the front continues her speech, but Adora hears none of it as she scrambles to attach the paper to her leotard with shaking sweaty hands. By the time she's managed, the woman has introduced all the teachers. "And I," she concludes, gesturing to herself, "am Headmistress Angella. I own the school along with my husband."</p><p>Her fellow ballet dancers clap, and Adora quickly joins in, ending a tad too late. Great. Just what she needed.</p><p>"It is our pleasure to be able to host this audition and see what new talents lie in each and every one of you," Angella continues. Her accent is light, but it's clear that she isn't from here; Adora likes her for that. "Each year, we encounter hundreds of students like yourselves, so it should come to no surprise that we expect you to enlighten us. Let us see into your souls through your dancing and do your best to show us why you deserve to be accepted to Bright Moon."</p><p>Angella softens her expression and intertwines her fingers. "You should be very proud of yourselves for making it this far, and now, it is up to each of you to prove that this is what you want to devote your life to."</p><p>Cheesy as they were, Adora feels those words and locks them up tight in her heart. Despite the nerves, she wants this, now more than ever. All she had to do was impress them. She might as well just let it all flow out of her and have fun while doing it. Even if she was nervous, there was one thing she knew for certain: she deserved to be here.</p><p>"Alright," Angella finishes with a smile, clapping her hands. "Good luck to all of you. Let us begin."</p><p>Adora lets out a deep sigh and then smiles. She's got this. </p><p>The girls begin to set their bags to the side and flock to the barres, picking their spots, and Adora follows suit. As Angella takes a seat, another teacher makes her way to the front, a smile etched deep into the curvy folds of her face. </p><p>"Hello, everyone. I'm Spinerella, one of the main ballet teachers at the school, and I will guide you through barre," she explains. "Please, left hand on the barre, first position and-"</p><p>The door bursts open, and everyone, Adora included, turns to the noise.</p><p>There stood a brunette, gasping for air and clutching onto her bag as if her life depended on it. Angella stands again. "Are you in the right place?" </p><p>The girl nods, still trying to catch her breath as she opens her bag, pulling out her candidate number and waving it like a white flag. </p><p>"My name is Catra," she says, her voice raspy with exertion. "And I'm here to audition."</p><hr/><p>Catra usually loves when all the eyes of the room are on her— in a positive setting, that is. When it's about fifty ballet dancers and ten teachers shooting her various shades of a death-glare, not so much. She swallows, trying to clear the raspiness in her voice and stands straighter. </p><p>"Are you aware that the audition began ten minutes ago?" the tall woman responds, her mouth setting into a hard line. "If you cannot adhere to punctuality, I'm not quite sure that you have a place at Bright Moon."</p><p>Perhaps a proper ballet student would have shown some shame, or blurted out a list of excuses and begged for a chance. But Catra doesn't have an excuse. With her heart threatening to burst through her chest, she keeps her lip from trembling. "I'm not going to make excuses. I'm late, and I'm sorry," she starts before taking a deep breath. "But you'd be missing out on a hell of a dancer if you turn me away without letting me audition."</p><p>Some of the girls gasp or shake their heads. Catra doesn't care about them. Instead, she watches as the woman's frown turns into a bit of a smile— a small one. "Are you stretched?"</p><p>"Yes," Catra lies. </p><p>"Then set your things down and take your place. Spinerella, apologies for the interruption. You may proceed." Catra bristles at being called an interruption. If this were a regular day, she might have let it get to her. Not today. Instead, she lets it fuel her, wanting nothing more than to prove them wrong. </p><p>As Spinerella gives the instructions, Catra adds her bag to the others, pins the candidate number to the front of her leotard and slips on her shoes as fast as possible. The girls have already started their pliés by the time she gets to the barre, but it doesn't matter. She'll show them. </p><p>Catra lets her body's natural instincts take over, going through the pliés like a regular motion. It isn't easy; her legs burn from running six blocks and her shoulders are tight from lugging around such a bulky bag. She was sure that tomorrow she wouldn't have a voice, given how many times she'd screamed at people to get out of her way. It was all worth it, though. She was here, and she wasn’t about to let something as trivial as pain stop her from giving the performance of a lifetime. </p><p>The class moves to pliés in the second, then third and fourth positions, and Catra follows along seamlessly like she'd been doing all her life. It was a miracle that she'd even been let into the building. With the clock working against her, she'd snuck in behind someone being buzzed in and dashed right past the receptionist and up the stairs, trying hard not to laugh at the baffled look on her face. It's just her luck that the woman hadn't called security on her.</p><p>Spinerella continues to lead them through barre work, cycling through tendus, dégagés, and rond de jambes as the teachers keep a watchful eye on them and take notes. Catra doesn't notice them, though; she can't. Not if she wants to stay sane. She focuses on her arms instead, making sure to stand tall and keep from being too stiff. </p><p>Catra's lungs are screaming for water, and her nerves are craving a smoke. Just a little bit longer, and she would indulge in both. The class moves on to relevés in all the positions, so for a quick moment, Catra lets her eyes wander. The girls here were all the run-of-the-mill ballet type, but it was clear to see who would have a chance and who would be dismissed. She can spot the flaws in most of them, but when she lands on the blonde with a thick bun, her mind goes blank. Catra may be petty, but she's not dumb. The girl was just as good, if not better than her. </p><p>She can't think about that. Not now. Catra returns the focus to herself, and with a deep breath lets her face relax. Rond de jambe, up to a relevé and turn around. Simple. Her balance was right, and she didn't tremble. </p><p>The music stops, and Spinerella clasps her hands together. "Excellent job, everyone. Take a quick water break, change into your pointes, and we'll move onto floor work."</p><p>Damn, no break. The cigarette would have to wait until later. The water, however… Catra dashes to her bag, yanking out her bottle and taking a few slow, meaningful sips. She wants to chug it, but she'd learned a harsh lesson far too many times when it came to floor work and being full of water.</p><p>Her hair is slipping out of her bun, so she pulls out the pins and starts over. As she pins up her hair, gossip fills the room. It’s mindless chatter for the most part, but when Catra hears giggles and whispers behind her, she gets the feeling they’re talking about her. She doesn't care, or so she tells herself. Any minute now, she'll be wiping the floor with them. Despite knowing she shouldn't, Catra turns to give them a glare, but instead, she notices the blonde from the barre. </p><p>At least the blonde has the decency to blush and hastily look away. </p><p>Once her hair is tied up as can be, Catra pulls out her pointe shoes and a wad of cotton, starting to tape up her toes. Between the running and pointe work, her toes would be cracked and bleeding by the time that she got home. She was used to it.</p><p>The barres are moved away, and with their pointes on and laced just right, everyone returns to the center. Another teacher takes Spinerella's place. She stands at the center, looking over the class and betraying no hint of leniency. "My name is Netossa. I'll be guiding you through the floor work. We'll be going through a basic routine together, split you into groups, and evaluate you from there. Questions?" </p><p>Silence. </p><p>"Good. Let's start in fourth position, move to a pas de bourrée, go into an attitude, carry side coupé, pas de bourrée again, passe, and fifth pirouette. Then repeat on the left side." Netossa nods to the pianist, and the girls, Catra included, shift into fourth position and follow along with the repeated steps. The combination is a tricky one, but after a couple of times, she has it down. </p><p>When the movements become routine, she focuses her energy into the music, letting the piano wash over her and carry her through the steps. She doesn't have time to see how anyone else is doing. Before she knows it, she's placed in a group and up to perform first, letting the judges see what she has to present for them. </p><p>And she gives them everything she has. </p><p>Catra doesn't feel like she's in an audition any longer. With the music playing and a sequence in her mind, she's transported into the fantasy of a perfect world where every problem can be solved with a series of pirouettes. Her legs don't tremble, and despite her relative discomfort, her face is calm, serene even. When she finishes, there's even a smile on her face. </p><p>The class moves on, showing off their fouetté, leaps, and arabesques. And then, without any warning, it's over. Without another word to the girls, the teachers leave the room to deliberate. Catra's hair is matted to her scalp, and the purple leotard she's wearing clings to her skin. There's nothing to be done about anything now. </p><p>It was over. She'd gone and done it. The only thing left to do was to wait and hope that she hadn't ruined everything by being late. </p><p>An eternity passes before the tall woman enters the room again. All eyes are on her, waiting, ready to grasp onto every word that comes out of her mouth. </p><p>She clears her throat, and smiles. "Once again, we'd like to thank you all for joining us today. At this time, we'd like to invite candidate numbers 6666 and 2090 to stay behind. Everyone else is dismissed." </p><p>Catra feels her heart skip a beat. </p><p>It couldn't be. Could it?</p><p>She tears the paper off her leotard, and the number on it almost makes her cry. Lucky number 6666; what a dumb number. But it was her dumb number. She looks at the woman before walking over, unsure of what to say. </p><p>"Is this a joke?" she says in a voice that isn't her own. </p><p>The woman laughs, resting a hand on her shoulder before giving Catra a knowing look. "It would appear that the school is gaining a… hell of a dancer, as you said? Though I ask that you, please refrain from using such crass language in the future."</p><p>Catra swallows, unable to help the smile that comes to her face. "Done."</p><p>"Congratulations, Miss Catra. Welcome to Bright Moon Academy." </p><p>The words are the best music she's ever heard. Her ears throb with excitement as the woman introduces herself as Angella, her new headmistress, and directs her to go downstairs and speak with the receptionist about giving her information so they can send her enrollment forms. With all the excitement, Catra forgets to thank her. </p><p>Tears threaten to rise at any moment, but Catra shoves them down long enough to look over and see who the other lucky girl is. </p><p>After only a look, some of the excitement dims. Looks like the blonde girl had some talent of her own.</p><hr/><p>Adora exits the dance studio, her heart still pounding erratically in her chest. Sweat covers every inch of her, and yet, she's freezing. Her feet throb with the ache of the rigorous audition, but at the moment, she doesn't quite feel the pain. She will later, but for now, the smile on her face is wide enough to cover any notion of discomfort. She pushes through the heavy double doors of the exit, leaving Bright Moon Dance Academy with an acceptance letter. </p><p>It almost feels like a dream. One moment she was standing in the crowd of girls, waiting to hear her number called, and the next, Madame Angella and the Bright Moon administrative team were getting her contact information for enrollment papers. For a moment, just a brief one, she thinks of pinching herself. Just as she's about to, a skateboarder whirls past and nearly knocks her over. </p><p>"Watch where you're standing, Lady!" he shouts, already rolling away. </p><p>Adora throws him the bird anyway. "Bite me!" she calls after him, sticking out her tongue for good measure. </p><p>Okay, so this isn't a dream. This is reality; the revelation almost makes her squeal in excitement. Before she can, her phone buzzes from her gym bag. Adora pulls out her phone, sees the time, and her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Instead of squealing, she groans and runs for the nearest subway station. Shit. She'd told Mara she'd be home by five, and it was nearly six. Razz wasn't one to be overprotective, but Mara certainly was. The ten frantic text messages and three missed calls definitely attest to that. </p><p>Bounding down the stairs to the subway, she hurriedly texts her back that she's on her way home before tossing the phone back in her bag. Hopefully, Mara wouldn't kill her, or worse, ground her, if she told her the good news first.</p><p>The entire ride home, her brain is buzzing with what's to come. She'd fill out all the enrollment forms tonight, even if she had to stay up all night to do it. When that's done, she'd put in a request for more hours at the ice cream shop. Her manager would give them to her, especially once she told her the good news. Ballet clothes and shoes weren't cheap, and Adora would need every cent if she wanted to impress at Bright Moon. </p><p>With three stops left to go, Adora lets her mind replay her acceptance. She could hardly believe it when her number was called; the competition had been steep, and she was certain that they'd accept the brunette girl above all. She'd been… amazing. </p><p>Adora loves to dance, but she was sure that her love looked minuscule compared to that girl's. When she danced, you could tell that she put her soul into every step. Ballet companies all over the world would be hounding her with offer letters once they saw her perform. She'd meant to congratulate her, but by the time Angella had finished talking to her, the girl had left. </p><p>She didn't let it dampen her mood. The school was small, surely she'd find her sooner rather than later. If not, she'd just ask around for the insanely talented hot girl. Yeah, that was sure to work.</p><p>The train arrives at her stop, and the excitement builds up again in Adora's chest. Would Mara and <em> abuela </em> Razz be happy for her? They'd supported her in ballet all throughout high school, but professional ballet was different. Mara made it no secret that she wanted her niece to go to college; part of Adora wondered if Mara would try to make her pass this up. Her stomach knots at the thought, shoving away any hunger that had previously been. </p><p>Once she's off the subway and out on the street again, she walks home with arguments on her mind. What if they didn't support her? Could she just give Bright Moon up? Her uncertainty to the answer only drives her further towards the brink. Maybe she just needs to eat something. She'd been too nervous to eat before the audition, only taking two bites of a piece of toast after Mara had threatened her with a butter knife. </p><p>As soon as she unlocks the door to their house, a familiar scent wafts into her nose, and she immediately feels more at ease. Adora heads to the kitchen, setting her bag down along the way. "<em> Arroz con frijoles </em> ?" she asks, going to kiss her <em> abuela </em>first. </p><p>"<em> Sí, </em>" Razz responds. "Your favorite."</p><p>Mara sits at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers and prep books for the Bar exam she's taking next month. When she sees Adora, she closes her book, looking at her niece expectantly. "You said you'd be home by five. It's nearly seven."</p><p>"I know, I'm sorry. I just got… held back."</p><p>Mara nods, pursing her lips before crossing her arms across her chest. "So?<em> Cómo te fue, </em> Adora?" </p><p>Adora bites her lip before she finally breaks and erupts into a beaming smile. "I got in!" </p><p>The three women all start screaming, the two older ones rushing to Adora and enveloping her in a series of hugs and kisses. They spoke in a flurry of English and Spanish, so fast and garbled that Adora can't even make out what they're saying. She accepts all their affection and finally lets herself cry, unable to believe that it's finally over. That she made it. </p><p>This flurry of excitement lasts for several minutes until Adora gently pulls away, wiping her eyes. "I'll tell you everything. Just… Can we eat first? I'm starving." </p><p>"Of course. Let me clean up," Mara says, waving Adora away when she tries to help. While Mara and Razz set up dinner, Adora takes the chance to shower and change, adrenaline still coursing through every inch of her. Admitting it to someone other than herself only made it feel all the more real. By the time she's finished, the table is all set up, with a vase of flowers to boot. </p><p>"For me?" Adora coos, tugging on Mara's braid before sitting down. "You shouldn't have."</p><p>Mara rolls her eyes, but smiles. "We didn't. <em> La señora Hernández </em> brought them over while you were gone."</p><p>"You can't let me be a little self-centered, not even for five minutes?"</p><p>"No. Then, your head might actually catch up to the size of your forehead."</p><p>Razz sets a plate of chicken down on the table, waving her hands at the both of them. "Enough bickering. Eat before it gets cold," she instructs, but Adora and Mara both know to wait until Razz is sitting before they can start eating. </p><p>Hunger takes over any other instinct, and Adora can't shovel food into her mouth fast enough. "So good," she moans, her mouth full of rice and beans. Any other night, she'd be a little stricter on portion control, but this was a night for celebration. What Bright Moon didn't know wouldn't hurt them.</p><p>"So, how was it? Were you scared? Or did you know you'd make it," Mara asks, swallowing down her food with a sip of water. </p><p>Adora shrugs, trying to think back. In truth, she didn't fully remember. Once the music started, she'd been so focused on perfecting her posture and remembering the combinations that she hadn't even thought to think if she was good enough to make it. "At first I was," she admits because that much was true. "But once it all started, I just didn't want to stop."</p><p>Mara and Razz take turns grilling her throughout dinner, and for the first time, Adora realizes that her time left with them is numbered. Soon she'd be moving into the Bright Moon dorms, and she wouldn't see them every day. The thought dampens her excitement a bit, but she continues to eat lest they think something is the matter. The last thing she needs is for Mara to have any more ammunition against her going than she already has.</p><p>"I'm so proud of you, Dearie," Razz says again, resting her hands on Adora's jaw and squeezing it lovingly. "You're going to do great things at this school. What did I always tell you? Adora smiles, unable to help the second round of tears that come to her eyes as her grandmother continues. "<em> Puedes lograr todo lo que te propongas, </em>Adora."</p><p>"I know," Adora says, accepting the kiss on the forehead that her grandmother gives her before she pulls away. </p><p>Razz smiles, stretching out her back. "Is it time for my show, Mara Dearie?"</p><p>Adora shares a look with her aunt, both of them grinning. Be it rain, shine, family disaster, or day of celebration, Abuela Razz <em> never </em> missed an episode of her evening show. "In ten minutes, <em> mamá </em>," Mara confirms, starting to collect the plates from the table and setting them in the sink. "Help me with the dishes, Adora?"</p><p>An innocent, homely request, but Adora knows better. With Razz watching her soap, it was the perfect opportunity for Mara to grill her. "Sure." Might as well get it out of the way now. </p><p>When the leftovers are put away and Adora's drying her third plate, Mara sighs, turning to her niece. "Are you sure about this? It's not too late to enroll in community college."</p><p>"Mara."</p><p>Her aunt holds up her hands, covered in soap. "I know. Look, trust me, I know what it's like to be on top of the mountain with the world at your feet. I just… I worry."</p><p>Adora sighs, but she bites anyway. "I want this, Mara. More than anything. You know how hard I worked to get here."</p><p>"And I'm not denying that for a moment! I just… sometimes I'm afraid that you're doing this, putting yourself through this for me," Mara admits. "I don't want you to throw your life away. Dancing was my dream, it doesn't have to be yours."</p><p>"Self-centered, party of one," Adora jokes, but the grin falls off her face when Mara shoots her a glare. "Why can't dancing be my dream too?"</p><p>Mara hands Adora the last dish, leaning against the counter for support. She tilts her head as she thinks, her heavy braid swinging around to her back. "Of course it can. And if this is your dream, then you should absolutely go for it. Just know that this dream can be taken from you at a moment's notice."</p><p>Every dancer's nightmare is to get injured and ruin their career in one fell swoop; it's an unfortunate reality that comes with the territory. Mara's accident had been hard on all of them, especially when she'd been so passionate about dance.</p><p>Adora sighs, setting the dish down before looking at her aunt. "I'll be honest… maybe, a long, long time ago, I did ballet for you. But now? This is my life, Mara. I want to go to Bright Moon. I want to be a dancer, to be on stage, and just… to have <em> fun </em>," she says, taking Mara's hands. "College will still be there if I change my mind." </p><p>"Will you, though?" Mara squeezes Adora's hands back before tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'm so proud of you. <em> Sabes que te amo, ¿verdad? </em>" </p><p>"<em> Claro, más que a nada </em>." </p><p>Mara kisses her forehead, letting it linger for a moment. She pulls away, letting out a deep breath. "You need help filling out the forms?" </p><p>"That would be amazing." Adora grins and helps to put the dry dishes away, glad that they'd come to an agreement. She knows that Mara isn't completely satisfied with the conversation, but she'd dropped it for now, and for that, Adora is very grateful. She nudges her aunt with her hip as she closes the cupboard, laughing as Mara repeated the action right back at her. "I can come home on the weekends, yeah? Don't think that anything they'll serve in the cafeteria will be nearly as good as <em> abuela's </em> cooking."</p><p>"Moocher."</p><p>"You love me for it!" Adora pauses, glancing at Mara's knee for a moment before she quickly puts the thought out of her head. "Hey, Mara?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"I'm not planning on changing my mind." Mara turns her head to look at Adora, the smile on her face tired, and extremely wary. She's about to say something, but Adora cuts her off. "I'm serious. You'll see."</p><p>Mara leans over and ruffles her hair, destroying the bun that had taken Adora a ridiculously long time to perfect. "I suppose you'll have to show me."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Roommates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On move-in day, Catra meets her new roommates.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Catra leans against the windowsill of Scorpia’s dorm room, holding a freshly lit cigarette and watching the fresh flock of students arrive. Move-in day. The start of a new year, and for some, a new life. As mutually agreed upon by both her and Octavia, the day she moved into Bright Moon was to be the last day of her foster arrangement. The day she’d been looking forward to since moving to New York City was finally here, and for that, she couldn’t be more grateful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why isn’t she shiny and smiling like the rest of the people pouring into the school? Catra pulls the cigarette to her lips, taking a long drag before blowing out the smoke into the air. She should be excited. She’s finally here with a chance at the opportunity of a lifetime and finally away from the shitty place she called home. She should be bouncing off the fucking walls with glee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Per usual, Catra doesn’t have an answer. Instead she just hangs out of the window, glancing upon these people’s lives and pretending they were hers. Unlike her, most of the arriving students boast several belongings to their name, with parents helping them drag everything inside. Everything she owned had fit quite nicely into her ballet bag and one backpack, clothes, shoes and all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From her position, she can hear a myriad of conversations, though they all carry the same general context. It was all ‘Honey come help me with this’, or ‘Mom, stop being so embarrassing, I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. Catra tells herself she doesn’t care, despite the pit in her stomach telling her that she obviously does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t left that spot in an hour, Wildcat,” Scorpia notes from her bed, turning the page to the magazine she was reading. “You about ready to tell me what’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s up,” Catra mutters. She finishes off her cigarette and stamps it out on the windowsill before joining Scorpia at the end of her bed. “People are just obnoxious, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia chuckles. “The ballet types are… a lot, but you get used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what if she doesn’t? Catra huffs out a sigh and pulls her knees to her chest. She is nothing like the other girls, it didn’t take more than five minutes of being here to realize that. There must have been some mistake in her acceptance, she obviously doesn’t belong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Scorpia nudges Catra with her foot. “It’s just the first day. Don’t get in your head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you are. It’s all over your face.” Scorpia sits up, crossing her legs. “What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was Catra supposed to say? That the place that she thought would make her feel most confident actually left her feeling more insecure than she ever had before? That now she had no home to go back to and nothing but her meager belongings to her name? Scorpia had been there for her through everything, shouldn’t she already know? A good friend might have let her barriers down and engaged in some ‘girl-talk’. Catra isn’t exactly what she’d consider to be a ‘good friend’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just… how new this all is. I still don’t feel like it’s real,” she admits, because that much is true. Catra knows what would happen if she told Scorpia the truth. Scorpia would immediately start being her amazing self, offering advice and reassurances and all the words that would make Catra want to gag. She doesn’t need that right now. Not from Scorpia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia hums to herself before nodding, tracing a finger over Catra’s palm. It was a thing they did when they were younger, in ballet class. Back when things were equally as shitty, but simpler. “We can make it real, you know,” she says, grinning at Catra. “Your roommates are probably here by now. Let’s go meet them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra rolls her eyes, moving her hand away and burying it inside her thick nest of hair. “So you’re my mom now? Pass.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed creaks as Scorpia laughs.“It’ll be fun! I’ll help you unpack, we’ll play some music, and make sure you get top bunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was definitely an option. Meeting her roommates will at least make everything more real. Unless they are horrible and stuck up, then that will turn out to be a little too real and Catra isn’t sure if she’s ready for that yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so,” she replies, wishing she’d stuffed more than one cigarette in the pocket of her jeans. She really needs better hindsight, because now she wants another cigarette and it’s far too much work to dig through all her shit and find the carton. “I don’t need to be babied.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia scoffs, inching closer and laying on her stomach so that she’s right across from Catra. “I’m not babying you. Just… wanna help you out. The first day in a new place can be rough on anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need help,” Catra says, but with a smile. “I have two bags, it’ll take me all of ten minutes to put my shit away and that’s barely three shitty songs, or two good ones. Don’t worry so much,” she sighs, but appreciates her friend’s concern nonetheless. “I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you will be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra lets the silence hang in the air for a few minutes. “You sure you can’t be my roommate?” she asks, softer than Scorpia has ever heard her voice before. It would be a hell of a lot easier if Scorpia was her roommate. They got along, most of the time. Knew the way the other worked. “We’ll do an illegal switcheroo, or something. I’ll bribe her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have like, ten dollars in your bank account.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe she really likes coffee. If someone bought me a coffee, I’d take it as a bribe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia reaches forward and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Catra’s ear. Without words, Catra knows what she means; she would if she could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra sighs, cracking her back before climbing off the bed. “Alright, I’m going.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you don’t want me to come?” Scorpia asks, the slight whine in her voice betraying that she really wanted Catra to say no. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure,” Catra says anyway. “I’ll be fine. If it’s just some stuck-up brat I’ll show them who’s boss. I’m a nightmare, remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scorpia grabs her magazine again, shaking her head with a smile. “You’re not a nightmare.” She pauses, not opening the magazine immediately. “Hey, Catra?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” When Catra doesn’t receive an immediate response, she turns towards Scorpia, both bags on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, at least…” she chuckles, her cheeks tingeing pink. “Look, every year, the ballet company hosts a gala on the first weekend of the school year. It’s a whole show, and then a party afterwards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra adjusts the bags on her shoulders, making sure she has everything before looking back at Scorpia. “Cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is. Cool, I mean.” Scorpia clears her throat. “I just thought, maybe you’d like to go together?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fights back a grimace. Galas are stuffy and boring— or so she’d heard, at least. Not like she’d ever attended one. “Is attendance mandatory?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then sure. Better than going alone, I guess.” At least if Scorpia was there, she wouldn’t have to go and talk to people she really doesn’t care about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool,” Scorpia repeats, grinning to herself a bit. “That sounds good. Text me later?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra heads for the door. “I’ll think about it,” she says, lugging her bags out as she leaves. A gala meant that she would have to buy a dress. She’d considered throwing her stained blue formal dress in her bag this morning, but she’d left it at the bottom of her closet. In retrospect, she really shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions before nine am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She follows the hallway of the girls’ dormitory to room 1130. It wasn’t hard to find again; she’d lingered just outside earlier today, but hadn’t wanted to face it just yet. Instead she’d just hidden like a coward in Scorpia’s room. This time, however, the door was open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the room stood a petite blonde girl, humming to a song on the radio and unpacking her things. At least she was alone. Catra takes a deep breath, steadying herself before entering the room. “Room 1130?” she asks, pretending she didn’t know where she was in an effort to make conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl startles and turns around, but smiles at Catra. “Looks like you’re my roommate.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, holding her hand out. “I’m Adora.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra glances downward at the outstretched hand, hesitating for a second before she ends up taking it, giving it a light squeeze. “Guess I am. Catra,” she answers. There’s something familiar about this girl, Adora. Something that she can’t put her finger on just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora figures it out first, after she pulls her hand away. “Do I know you from somewhere?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think so.” Catra throws her stuff on the top bunk, relieved to see that it’s unclaimed. That’s one confrontation she doesn’t have to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I definitely do. I’d remember those eyes,” she explains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra blinks, turning back to look at Adora. “My eyes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Adora replies, shrugging as she continues to unpack. “It’s not every day you see someone with one blue and one hazel eye.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most people find it intimidating.” The words come off harsh, but Catra doesn’t mean them to be. When she was younger, kids, teachers, foster parents, you name it, had been afraid to look her in the eyes. She’s used to it by now. Catra unzips her own bag, figuring that now was a good time as any to start unpacking. Might as well, if Adora was already doing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two cross paths on her way to the dresser. Adora laughs a bit, looking right at her. “Sorry. I know New York City rooms are famous for being small, but this is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ridiculous,” Catra finishes for her, unable to help the smile that forms on her lips. “You from New York?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Bronx, born and raised. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brooklyn. Past seven years.” Seven years. Catra can’t believe that it’s been that long already. Feels like just yesterday she was still just a little twerp on the Subway, trying her best to navigate the map herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora lights up. “That’s where I know you from! The audition,” she explains. It takes Catra a moment to connect the dots, but she remembers the other blonde and bristles slightly. The cute blonde was… Adora. Peachy. “I’m so sorry, I meant to introduce myself then, but I was just so overwhelmed— You get it, don’t you? One day you’re the top of your class at your shitty ballet school and then suddenly…” she trails off, flushing pink. “Sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. She’s cuter when she rambles. “It’s okay,” Catra waves her off. “Sometimes I can’t believe it either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding? Your dancing is incredible. I knew they’d take you in a heartbeat, even if you were late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say?” She smirks, unable to help herself, shooting a wink at Adora. “I like to make an entrance.” Maybe she’d judged her too harshly. If this is how it was going to be, she can get behind this whole ‘roommate’ thing. Catra brushes past her, moving to rustle in her bag for another cigarette. She pretends not to notice Adora stiffen as she does so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She also pretends not to notice Adora’s eyes on her, watching her every move as she lights the cigarette. “I thought dancers aren’t supposed to smoke. Body is a temple, and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra’s smirk only deepens, taking a long drag and blowing out the smoke. This girl had balls; for years, Scorpia had danced around her displeasure of Catra smirking. Adora had called her out in minutes. “My body </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a temple,” she notes, leaning against the back wall of their room. The tension melts away as the dose of nicotine settles into her system, so she’s able to play it cool, relaxed. “Want a drag?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She plays it coy, tilting her head to the side. “What’s your drug of choice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora doesn’t respond right away, mulling the question over as she continues to unpack her things. “Empanadas,” she admits with a cheeky smile. “And anything with vodka.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Svedka?” Catra teases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.” Adora waves her off, turning to face her before crossing her arms over her chest. “I can drink anyone under the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlikely. They both seem to be around the same age, so unless Adora has a super great fake ID, there’s no way anyone was legally letting her drink. Plus, Adora is hardly taller than her, and weighs a hundred and thirty pounds at most. She’d be a lightweight for sure. Still, Catra finds her attempt almost sweet. “Is that so? Well then, maybe one night you’ll have to show me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora gives Catra a wink of her own. “Count on it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey.” Catra and Adora both turn to the new voice. In the doorway stands another girl, staring at them both warily. She looks at the room number outside, as if to confirm she’s in the right place, before settling her gaze on her future roommates. “I’m Glimmer. Guess we’re all roommates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra hadn’t even taken notice that there was a single bed, off to the side. Three roommates, one tiny room. Perfect; figures that Bright Moon would cut corners on something. The girl, Glimmer, doesn’t seem too thrilled either. Her face is nearly as pink as her hair, light and flush. Judging by the two huge suitcases beside her, she was a total princess type. Just her luck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sound too excited, Roomie,” Catra simpers, hoping to convey that she wasn’t to be trifled with. “We promise we won’t harsh your mellow.” She takes extra pleasure in the chuckle Adora tries to hide behind a cough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer nods, swallowing nervously before lugging her suitcase inside. “...Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora recovers from her chuckle, extending a hand to Glimmer just like she had with Catra. “I’m Adora, and this is Catra. This is our first year at Bright Moon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously.” Glimmer pulls her suitcases over to her bed before she takes Adora’s hand. “I know everybody else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone? Even the janitors?” Catra asks, unable to help herself from egging this girl on. If she didn’t, she was certain that this ‘Glimmer’ girl would try to stake her superiority over them. Catra had seen it before, with older foster siblings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even the janitors.” Glimmer sighs and turns to Catra with a wary expression. “I’ve been here since I was nine. I can introduce them to you, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good,” she mutters, focusing her attention on puffing a strand of hair out of her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, nine?” Adora sits on her bunk, crossing her legs. “That’s nuts. Did you grow up here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer hums, nodding as she thinks it over. She opens her suitcases, revealing a mismatched and haphazardly thrown array of every item a dancer could ever want. “Yeah, kinda. I’ve been in the kids program, and then graduated to the upper levels. My parents own the school,” Glimmer explains, pulling out each wrinkled leotard and tossing it on her bed. Catra can’t help the twinge of jealousy in her stomach. She barely had two leotards to her name, and this girl seemed to own the whole catalogue. </span>
  <span>Her hand twitches and the previously forgotten cigarette slips, burning her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. What a fucking waste of a cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She mutters to herself and yanks her bag off her bed, rummaging around until she finds her tiny ashtray and the carton. The burn on her leg bothers her, but she’s had worse. It would pucker up and scab in a couple of days. Once Catra puts her cigarette out, she immediately sets to lighting a second one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra looks up, noticing that both Adora and Glimmer’s eyes were on her. “What does it look like I’m doing?” She places the stick in her mouth and takes a quick drag, trying not to laugh when Glimmer’s face changes from pink to red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t smoke in here,” she grits out. “It’s against the rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Catra looks to Adora for assistance, but the blonde has made herself neutral in the situation, unpacking her things as if the conversation isn’t happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I’m serious. If you want to smoke, you have to do it outside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs, shaking her head. Of course this girl had no sense of chill. Glimmer was probably born with a stick up her ass— Catra really shouldn’t be all that surprised. With everyone’s eyes on her, she walks over to the window and cracks it open, sticking her hand holding the cigarette outside. “Satisfied?” she cooes, smirking all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think this is a joke?” the pink-haired girl shrills. “I’ll call security.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t even give her request the time of day. It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell her to fuck off, until she remembers that Glimmer mentioned that her parents owned the school. One word to Mommy and Daddy and Catra would find herself on the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stands up straighter, her shoulders tensing. “Fine.” Catra glances back at Adora. “You coming?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To her credit, Adora very much looks like she wants to go. She looks between Catra and Glimmer before rubbing the back of her head. “I should really stay and unpack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She turns on her heel and leaves the room without another word. Despite being disappointed, she can’t blame Adora for staying behind. Picking Glimmer as an ally would serve her far better in the long run. She can respect that.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, now she’s alone. She doesn’t really feel like going outside, but it would hurt her pride to simply put out the cigarette and go back to her room. Scorpia wasn’t an option either, she would judge her if she went back to her so soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me you have another one of those.” She whirls around, nearly bumping into the boy who had spoken. “Sorry,” he says quickly, rubbing his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Guess that came out of nowhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit,” Catra mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Bow. And I would just about die for one of those right now,” he continues. In a strange moment of kindness, Catra hands over the cigarette. Bow accepts it gratefully, taking a puff and blowing out the smoke to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra watches him, slightly amused. “So… Bow. Is that your real name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my stage name. Because, like my dancing, I’m sturdy and yet ever so graceful.” He winks at Catra and hands back the cigarette. “What’s your stage name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t need one.” Catra places the cigarette back in her mouth and inhales, savoring the smoke before she blows it out. “I’m Catra.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow grins. “An individual, I like it. You’re new?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, is it written on my forehead or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that. The returning students kind of all know each other, it’s a small class.”Catra nods at the response. A small class means more talent. So why the hell was she here? “Oh hey!” Bow exclaims, his face lighting up. “Come meet my roommates. I think you’ll get a kick out of them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grimaces before she can stop herself. Meeting new people and making friends wasn’t too high on her list of priorities at the moment. Or, well, ever. “I was just going to head outside and smoke. Apparently it’s not allowed in the dorms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow scoffs and takes her arm, already dragging her towards the stairway. “Don’t worry about it. My roommates are cool. They don’t share their goods, but they’ll be fine if you bring your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like that?” She purses her lips and has to fight to stay coordinated with the way this Bow kid is dragging her. “No narcs?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No narcs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like Catra has much of a choice, but she figures that Scorpia would be proud of her if she reported back that she at least made an </span>
  <em>
    <span>attempt</span>
  </em>
  <span> at being social, so… why not? It couldn’t be that bad.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Allies and Apologies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>While Bow introduces Catra to his eccentric roommates, Glimmer introduces Adora to her friends.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is dedicated to one of our writers, the amazing Rosie. Happy Birthday Rosie ♥️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Bow opens the door to his room, he and Catra are greeted with a rather unusual sight. A Britney Spears song blasts full-volume from a laptop, one boy is doing a rather enthusiastic set of squats in a set of shorts that are </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too tight for him, and another is hanging up anime posters, wearing earphones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow’s cheeks flush as the two stand in the doorway, and he shoots Catra a look of apology. “I was hoping they’d be more normal, by now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra stares at the odd scenario before breaking into a grin. She can work with weird. “I can see why you went out for a stroll.” She means it in good jest. Actually, she much prefers whatever is going on here to the tension in her room. “Are you really hanging Naruto posters up right now?” she calls out to the boy wearing headphones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps at her accusation, taking out his earphones. “Uh… yeah?” he stammers, looking between her and Bow, clearly intimidated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra, this is Kyle.” Bow walks over to the laptop and hits pause on the music. “And this is— “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The exercise enthusiast quickly turns around, shooting a wink at Catra and leaning on the desk. “They call me Seahawk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow groans. “Not this again,” he mumbles under his breath before pinching his temple. “Sebastian. His name is Sebastian.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be called Sea Hawk.” He props up a leg on his bed, striking a pose. “For I am swift, and my dancing is known to intimidate my prey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over in the corner, Kyle shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what sea hawks do—” He doesn’t get far in his thoughts, for the alleged Sea Hawk dashes over and covers his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said,” he continues, a little out of breath. “Swift and intimidating.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sea Hawk, huh?” Cigarettes forgotten, Catra enters the room and plops down on the desk chair, sitting on it backwards and leaning on top of the backrest. “I’ve heard worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy, now known as Sea Hawk, sidles up to her. “Do you think it’s cool?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. Definitely not cool.” Catra grins at his disappointed look, tilting her head to the side. “But it is memorable. So… what the hell, Sea Hawk it is.” Sea Hawk beams so hard he looks like he’s going to hurt himself, and Catra almost regrets giving him the compliment. So instead, the glances at Kyle. “What’s your deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal?” The smaller boy finally wrestles himself out of Sea Hawk’s grasp, fumbling a bit and stumbling backwards onto his bunk. “No deal. I don’t have a deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a wonder how someone so nervous and intimidated by her very presence ended up as a ballet dancer. Catra twirls a loose strand of hair around her finger, deciding to play with him a little bit. She likes having the upper hand. “Let me guess. You’re from a small town. Only ballet dancer in your area by miles. Somehow, you lucked out into attending one of the best schools in the country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle flushes red, unable to meet her eyes. “Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow, the peacemaker, offers him a life raft and takes over the conversation. “Kyle and I have been roommates for… what, three years now?” When Kyle nods, Bow turns back to Catra. “He may not look it, but Kyle is super light on his feet. Gives some of the girls a run for their money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though she has no reason to doubt Bow, Catra still finds herself wary. The kid looks like he weighs no more than a hundred and fifty pounds, and that’s if she’s being generous. His arms are small, and she wonders how he’s able to hold up a dance partner; the last thing she needs is to be paired up with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To push the thoughts out of her head, she finds something to distract herself with on the desk. A few notebooks, Sea Hawk’s laptop… but her interest is piqued at the photograph taped up to the side. “Is that Rogelio Andrés?” Catra asks, scooting closer to get a better look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rogelio Andrés may be Bright Moon Ballet’s newest company member, but his performances have been talked about by many. Every year, Catra would scrape up enough money to attend Bright Moon’s student showcase, and Rogelio’s pieces always stood out. It was no question that he was offered a spot in the company after graduating from the academy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a legend,” she muses to herself, backing away from the photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyle grins. “He’s my boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Catra scoffs. There is no way that a guy like Rogelio would ever give a boy like Kyle the time of day. “I may not like men, but even I know that’s a load of crap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Off to the side, Bow snickers. “When are you gonna come off it, Kyle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not making it up!” Kyle’s face is red as can be, and he crosses his arms across his chest. “We’ve been dating for over a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would appear hard to believe…” Sea Hark drawls. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we like to keep things private. Everyone is always in everyone’s business here,” Kyle explains, moving away from Sea Hawk when the boy rests his head on his shoulder. “And technically company members aren’t allowed to date students. So we don’t talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, because it’s bullshit. You’re making it up,” Catra concludes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need to prove anything to you guys. Believe what you want,” Kyle sputters before sliding into his shoes. “I’m going out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow hides a giggle under his palm.  “Don’t hurt yourself, buddy,” he calls after Kyle as he storms out. Once he’s gone, he shoots a wink at Catra. “He’s pretty fun to mess with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Noted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bow, did you happen to catch a glimpse of my sweet Mermista while you were out?” With Kyle gone, Sea Hawk spreads out on his bed and makes himself comfortable. “It has been ages since I last saw her. My heart yearns for her presence.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra chokes back a laugh. This guy can’t be serious. She’s about to call him out on the act, but upon closer look, Sea Hawk appears to be entirely committed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t seen her.” Bow nods to Catra. “Mermista is his on-again, off-again girlfriend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is it now, off or on?” she asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sea Hawk smiles sheepishly. “Off. We may have gotten into a little tiff in the tunnel of love at the amusement park last month, but no matter! I shall win her back posthaste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Posthaste? Who even says that anymore? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suddenly I see the need for a smoke,” Catra mutters. Still, she would take this over-the-top geek and the anime-loving compulsive liar over the princess back in her room. She messes a bit with her bangs before looking at Bow. “Say, you know anything about a girl named Sparkles?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sparkles?” He cocks his head to the side, trying to figure out if he knows anyone by the name before he lights up and chuckles. “Do you mean Glimmer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sparkles, Glimmer, same difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flush appears on Bow’s cheeks, and instead of answering he gets up and starts rummaging under his bed. After a few moments, he pulls out a guitar. “We’re friends,” he says, playing nonchalant as he tunes the guitar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s obviously more to the story, but Catra’s pushed enough buttons today, so she keeps from pressing further. “She’s my roommate,” she explains, messing with her fingers. “We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bow nods thoughtfully, checking the strings to make sure they sound right before he proceeds to strum. “That doesn’t surprise me. Glimmer can rub some people the wrong way.” He bites his lip, stopping to play. “You just need to get to know her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s probably good advice, especially coming from someone who knows Glimmer personally. At the moment, however, Catra’s still licking her wounds, so she’ll let the Princess be the one to make amends. After all, it’s the least she can do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit in a comfortable silence after. Bow plays on his guitar. Catra plays solitaire on her phone. Sea Hawk lights up a cigarette and they all share it. Even Catra has to admit, this isn’t too bad. She can get used to this. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After Catra left, there was a quiet, awkward tension in the room as Adora and Glimmer proceeded to unpack. Every attempt that Adora made at conversation, Glimmer politely shut down. After a while, she stopped trying, getting the hint that Glimmer needs some time to herself. For the most part, Adora regrets not going with Catra. It’s been an hour and she hasn’t returned, and she can only imagine what kind of things she’s getting up to. Anything is better than dealing with this uncomfortable silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Adora finishes unpacking, she climbs on her bed and debates how to spend the rest of her day. Exploring the school is an option. Better yet, she can take her class schedule and map out the perfect route to all of her classes, ensuring that she’ll be early to each one. Yeah, that doesn’t sound so bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of making these plans, her stomach growls. A quick glance at her clock tells her that it’s lunchtime; with all the excitement of moving in and the little confrontation between Catra and Glimmer, lunch was the last thing on her mind. She longingly thinks back to the muffin she’d eaten that morning and had been too nervous to finish. Stupid nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She quickly glances over to Glimmer, who throws the last couple of things in her dresser before zipping up her suitcase. One more attempt couldn’t hurt, right? If the three of them are going to be roommates, they may as well be on good terms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m going to get some lunch,” Adora says, getting off her bed and stretching a bit. “Do you want anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer looks at her, eyes wide, almost as if she’d forgotten that Adora was there. She looks as if she’s about to say something, but before she can, her stomach growls. The two laugh a bit, and Glimmer rubs the back of her neck. “Lunch actually sounds pretty good right now. Would it be okay if I joined you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. It’d probably be easier if you direct me to the cafeteria anyway,” Adora notes, grabbing her student ID and sliding into her sneakers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, trust me, you do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to get lost here.” Glimmer follows suit and exits first, holding the door open for Adora to follow. “I guess it’s not as big a deal today, but when classes start, being late is a huge no-no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know.” As Glimmer leads the way to the cafeteria, Adora notes to herself to go on that mapping-plan as soon as lunch is over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk in silence for a few minutes, navigating the halls and narrowly avoiding students carrying their bags and various belongings. On the whole, it seems like most people have been at the school for a while; new students seem few and far between. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you and Catra close?” Glimmer asks once they’ve made it past most of the chaos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just met.” Though it certainly felt like they’d known each other for longer. There was something about her that Adora just couldn’t explain, but they’d clicked within minutes. “But she seems pretty cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer sighs, sticking her hands in her pockets. “I’m sorry, about earlier. I didn’t mean to piss Catra off, and I really didn’t mean to come off so… uptight, I guess.” She pauses, blowing some hair out of her eyes. “It’s just that my parents own the school. If they suddenly walked in and my room smelled like cigarettes…” she trails off, biting her lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Adora mulls it over, the worse she realizes the situation could have been. “No, yeah, that’s understandable,” she says. “I think she was just taken aback, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she was rude,” Glimmer huffs before shaking her head and taking a deep breath. “It’s fine, I’ll get over it. I just don’t want us to be fighting all year.” She glances sideways at Adora. “Truce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora nods, resting a hand on Glimmer’s shoulder. “Truce. I’ll talk to Catra, get her to come around. I’m sure we’ll all be friends in no time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends, right.” Something in her expression leads Adora to believe that she seriously doubts that, but she plays it cool and doesn’t press her on it. They arrive at the cafeteria, and for the most part, it’s pretty relaxed. Most people must still be in their dorms, unpacking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora’s eyes immediately gravitate to the several dining options available, but because Glimmer heads towards the salad bar, she follows her. Better to stick to the status quo, at least for today. Maybe she can make some more adventurous choices for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, as she loads up her plate with mixed greens, she can’t help but think of the chicken Mara had been marinating last night for this evening’s dinner. Maybe she could sneak back home? No. No, that was ridiculous. Adora belongs to Bright Moon now, and Bright Moon dancers eat salad, apparently. Most of the other girls seem to be eating various forms of the same green meal, so she sucks it up and attempts to load her plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she’s finished and has paid with her student ID, her plate holds twice the amount as Glimmer’s. Glimmer glances over at her plate, almost with a look of longing, but she says nothing as she scours for the perfect place to sit. “I think I see some of my friends over there,” she notes, waving to a group of girls sitting at a table by a window. “Do you mind if we sit with them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora shrugs. Meeting more people is good. Meeting the competition is even better. “Sure. Makes no difference to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” They head over to the table. The closer they get, the more at-ease Glimmer appears to be. Her shoulders relax and her steps grow slower. By the time they reach the table, she seems like a completely different person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is one of my roommates,” Glimmer introduces, gesturing to Adora before sitting next to a blonde girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde speaks first, offering Adora a kind smile. “I’m Perfuma. Are you new this year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess it’s kind of obvious.” Adora takes a seat at the end of the table, on the other side of the blonde. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s two other girls, but they don't seem nearly as interested in Adora’s introduction. One has earphones in, only half paying attention to the conversation. When Perfuma kicks her, she groans and presses pause on her phone, reluctantly taking out a headphone. “It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting to the good part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfuma clears her throat, a tight smile appearing on her face. “Your murder mystery podcast can wait. We have company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Podcast girl glances at Adora. “I’m Mermista. Welcome to Bright Moon, or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mermista is a fitting name; part of Adora wonders if it’s a stage name. Her hair is a dusty turquoise color, almost as if she really were a mermaid. It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask about it, but judging by her short temper, Adora figures it’s probably best saved for another time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m Frosta.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora glances at the girl sitting next to Mermista, balking a bit. She’s a kid. “You go here?” she asks, her eyes wide. “You can’t be more than ten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frosta narrows her eyes. “I’m eleven and three quarters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A course of laughter rings around the table. Glimmer shakes her head, resting her chin in her palm. “Frosta’s a prodigy. She’s part of the youth program.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she talks like a sailor and can dance around us any day, so we think she’s cool,” Mermista adds, nudging Frosta’s shoulder. This earns her a grin from the little girl, before she turns her gaze back on Adora with a smug expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora holds her hands up in apology. “Sorry, my bad. I’m still trying to get my footing around here,” she mumbles, digging her fork into her salad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone rests a hand on her shoulder— it’s Perfuma. “Did you get settled in okay? The first day can be kind of… a challenge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s without classes,” Glimmer agrees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s been a lot. But I’m sure it’ll be better once I get into a routine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mermista scoffs, dashing Adora’s hopes. “Don’t think that a routine will solve everything. Things are crazy at this school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mermista,” Perfuma chides, but the blue-haired girl just shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just being honest.” She glances down when her phone chimes, scowling immediately. She stuffs it in her pocket before tossing her braid behind her back. “I’m going to block his number, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer raises a brow. “Sea Hawk, again? I thought you guys were back on at the end of the year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’re off again. For good this time.” As soon as she says it, a chorus of snickers rings out around the table, and Mermista slams her hands down to emphasize her point. “I mean it this time. We’re through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you always say,” Frosta says before rolling her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sea Hawk is Mermista’s boy— sorry, ex-boyfriend,” Glimmer tells Adora once she sees her confused expression. “Give them like ten minutes, you’ll be as sick as the rest of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they continue to argue over Mermista’s dating situation, Adora busies herself with her salad. Her mind spins, and she can’t help the overwhelmed sensation building in her throat. It’s a little all too much. New school, new room, new people… she knew it would happen, but she thought she’d be introduced to them all a little slower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora thinks about Catra, for a moment. It was easy, meeting her. Maybe it’s because Catra’s new too, but everything felt a little better when she was talking to her. Like she understood her, or something. Here, among all the girls who already knew everything, it’s a little too easy to let it get to her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you okay?” Adora looks up from her salad, only to find the table staring at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chokes down her bite of salad, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m fine. Perfuma was right, the first day is just kind of a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be better once you start dancing,” Frosta pipes up. She spears a piece of baby corn onto her fork, waving it around as she talks. “When you start to wipe the floor with people, you’ll feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora can’t help but laugh at the thought. If anyone is going to be wiping the floor tomorrow, it’ll be Catra. For some reason, the thought puts a smile on her face. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Catra doesn’t return to her dorm until long after dinner. She ended up tagging along with Bow and Sea Hawk on a McDonalds run, where they bought far too many french fries and returned to the dorm to watch that night’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy because Bow insisted he could not miss it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, it wasn’t the worst day she’s ever had. Spending time with Bow and Sea Hawk took the bitter taste out of her mouth, and Catra finds herself looking forward to classes the next day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fully expects Adora and Glimmer to be asleep by the time she unlocks the door. As soon as she opens it, however, she finds them sitting on the floor, waiting for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You’re back,” Adora greets with a smile. “We were getting worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra nearly snaps at her, a jerk reaction, but she catches herself right before she says it. “Thanks for the concern. I’m fine, I was just… out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you eat? We brought back brownies from the cafeteria.” That explains the smell. For some odd reason, Catra is one of the few people in the world who detests chocolate. It’s too sweet, almost cloying. Whenever she eats it, she gets a headache. Probably explains why she’s so bitter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ate already. But… thanks.” It’s the least she can say, considering the effort. She’s sure that it’s all thanks to Adora. Glimmer would probably rather she choke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra keeps her back turned as she changes into her pajamas and lets her hair down. There’s an uncomfortable silence in the room, clearly brought on by her presence. For the most part, she ignores it. After years of practice, she’s grown rather good at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, while she’s brushing her teeth in the ensuite, she hears Adora and Glimmer whisper. Glimmer yelps in pain, before she hisses something back to Adora. When she enters again, Adora has her arms crossed and Glimmer appears apologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, if I was… too harsh earlier,” Glimmer says reluctantly. Catra finds her apology amusing. Her face is nearly as pink as her hair, and it’s clear that she’d rather be anywhere else but apologizing to her. “Next time I’ll be more considerate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pauses, as if waiting for Catra to apologize in return, but Catra offers nothing of the sort. Instead she just grins. “Good. So, can I smoke in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Are you insane?” Adora rests a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from continuing. Instead, she takes a deep breath. “Look, we don’t have to be friends, but we do have to live together. So can we at least, I don’t know, be civil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of replying to Glimmer, Catra glances at Adora. “This your doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora scoffs. “No.” When Catra’s look doesn’t waver, she pouts. “Maybe. But she’s right. It’s a new year, and I don’t want to start it with roommates fighting. If Glimmer agrees to chill a little bit, do you think you could ease up on the teasing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s about to say no, but there’s something about Adora that makes Catra’s words lodge in her throat. It’s that damn pout. No matter how hard she shakes it, it’s just too damn cute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra sighs. “Fine. Truce.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora’s look of utter relief almost makes the agreement worth it. Almost. She climbs up onto her bed, taking her phone with her. Bow’s sent her a text, wishing her a good night’s sleep before tomorrow. Right, classes start tomorrow. Her roommate problems may be dealt with, but classes introduce a whole slew of new ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra rolls over to her side, letting out a shaky breath. She’s earned her place here. Or so she tries to tell herself. Tomorrow, she’ll find out for certain.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The First Class</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On the first day of classes, Catra is late, and Adora gets closer to Glimmer.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>New chapter! This one is another 'short' one, I wanted to get something out while working on my new Catradora wedding one-shot. I promise, the next chapter will be longer and get into some juicier things. Like, the Gala 😉</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Adora wakes up long before her alarm goes off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First day of classes. Big day. Her phone tells her it’s a little past six in the morning, and a quick glance to the side of the room tells her that Glimmer is gone, bed unkempt. Carefully, she crawls out of bed, hoping not to wake Catra. Though judging by the girl’s soft snores, there’s not much to worry about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six am means she has two hours to kill before her first class. Two hours is plenty of time. Enough for a quick workout, a thorough stretch session, and maybe even a bit of breakfast. If her stomach calms down enough to eat, that is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From her bedside table, she grabs her earphones and plugs them into her phone. Quiet as can be, she starts with a series of pushups, followed by crunches, bicycle kicks, and leg lifts. Three sets, rinse and repeat. It helps Adora work her nerves out, and lucky for her, Catra sleeps through the entire thing, unaware of it all. She takes extra time to stretch out her muscles, especially her feet. They’d be put through the ringer today, the least she can do is prepare them for what’s to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time she showers and grabs a couple of muffins from the cafeteria, Catra’s just waking up. She smiles, seeing her awake when she enters the room. Glimmer is still nowhere to be found, it seems. “Hey there,” Adora greets softly, trying not to startle her roommate. “Late start?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not an early riser,” the brunette responds. “What time is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seven thirty. Still got about thirty minutes until class.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” As if on cue, Catra’s stomach growls. She glances away in mild embarrassment.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Adora says, tossing her a muffin. Catra catches it without missing a bit. “I came prepared.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora tries not to relish the look of surprise on Catra’s face. Score a point to her, for being the best roommate ever. As Catra nibbles on the muffin, Adora rifles through her drawers, pulling out her black leotards and pink tights. Boring, but apparently the required uniform at Bright Moon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She keeps her back to Catra as she’s changing, humming to herself as a distraction. At the moment, she doesn’t even remember the name of the song she’s humming. It’s a Spanish one, something Mara would sing most mornings as she made breakfast. The routine quells the little bit of homesickness that she’s feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she’s dressed, she walks over to the mirror and starts to pin up her hair. By now, Catra’s finished the muffin and has also begun to get dressed. “Want to walk to class together?” she asks, hoping to continue extending the olive branch. She’s not great at making friends, but she promised Mara and Razz that she’d make a better effort at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, sure. I have to brush my teeth, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, I’ll—wait, is that what you’re wearing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra glances up from adjusting the straps on her leotard. “Yeah?” She pauses, cocks her head to the side and gives a little smirk. “Doesn’t suit your taste?” Unlike Adora, she wears red, with nude colored tights. It looks far better than it should, and Adora can’t help the blush that tints her cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question leaves Adora flustered, more than it probably should. It’s too early for this. “What? No. No, it’s fine. Cool actually, super— I mean…” She stops rambling and collects herself with a deep breath. “What you’re wearing is nice, but Bright Moon has a uniform.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uniform?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Didn’t you read the orientation packet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra’s face says that she very much hadn’t, but the girl shrugs it off and takes off the hair tie from around her wrist. “Whatever. It’ll make me stand out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it works like that. What if you get in trouble?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette pauses from tying up her hair, shooting a quick look at Adora. “Worried about me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora scoffs and crosses her arms. “I’m trying to save you from getting your ass kicked out on the first day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They won’t throw me out. Trust me, once they see me dance, they’ll forget all about what I’m wearing.” Her words are strong, but something in Catra’s eyes doesn’t exactly convince Adora. It comes off more like a front, a facade to protect her. Part of her wants to call Catra out on it, but something stops her. Truthfully, it’s none of her business. Who is Adora to stop Catra from doing what she wants? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s your funeral,” Adora ends up saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catra finishes to tie up her hair, leaving it in a sloppy bun with bangs framing her face. It’s a stark contrast to Adora’s sleek, neat do. “I appreciate the concern,” she says with a wink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Catra scoots past her into their shared bathroom to brush her teeth, Adora checks the time on her phone. Class starts in fifteen minutes. She pulls at her fingers for something to do, resisting the urge to chew on her lip. They’re cutting it awfully close. What if all the good spots are taken by the time they get there? She really wants to show up early, scope out the other girls, make a good impression on the teachers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost ready?” It comes with a bit of a whine, and Adora mentally kicks herself. Now Catra probably thinks she’s such a goody-goody. It doesn’t matter, though. There’s no answer. “Catra?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nearly done. If it’s getting close, go on ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’ll catch up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Permission granted, Adora grabs her already-packed ballet bag and slings it over her shoulder. She barely remembers to grab her room keys on her way out the door. Part of her feels guilty for leaving Catra behind, but she really doesn’t want to be late. Especially not on the first day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thanks to her strategic mapping technique from the day before, Adora is able to make it to class in less than five minutes. The dorms aren’t too far from this particular studio, and for that Adora is eternally grateful. As expected, several girls are already there in various points of preparing their pointe shoes. Glimmer stands off to the side, testing out a shiny pair of shoes. In comparison, Adora’s faded ones look abysmal. She really needs a new pair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora takes her place in the center of the room, close to the barre. When class begins, she’ll be front and center; perfect for watching the teacher, and right up front to get her noticed. Easy. Almost too easy. Her pointe shoes are already broken-in, so she takes the time to prep her feet properly before slipping them on. No distractions today. She has to be at the top of her game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nerves aren’t nearly as bad as they were on the day of her audition. Maybe it’s because she’s already in and the hard part is over. Or maybe it has something to do with being inside the gorgeous dance studio again. Last time she was in here, it felt like a dream. Today, it’s her reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora!” Perfuma waves at her, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s your first day, how are you feeling? Did you eat breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any other morning, this amount of energy so early in the morning would have turned Adora off. She doesn’t mind it so much today. “Yeah, I got something to eat. And I’m fine. Excited for it to start, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfuma places a hand on Adora’s shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. “Glad to hear it. No stress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great! I’m sure you’re going to be amazing.” For some reason, Perfuma’s encouragement actually helps Adora feel better. She knows that she’s only met the girl a day ago, but there’s something really calming about her general demeanor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora’s about to respond when the doors to the dance studio open. A flock of boys enter the room, and the excitement increases tenfold. Returning students hug and squeal and group together. Off to the side, Adora finally locates Glimmer. She throws her arm around a boy, who cheers and spins her around in delight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following right after the boys are a group of adults. Teachers, she assumes, judging by their higher air and the way they watch the students interact. Adora recognizes Angella, Spinerella and Netossa from the audition. Angella holds herself at the front of the room, standing beside a dark-haired man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” she announces, bright and chipper. The energy in the room immediately simmers down, and many echo the words back to her. “We are so pleased to welcome everyone to the first day of what I am sure will be a wonderful year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she welcomes the new students, Adora scans the crowd for Catra. She doesn’t find her. Biting her lip, she attempts to  focus back on Angella. Why is her roommate like this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are our senior class, which means that this will be your last year attending Bright Moon Academy,” the man beside Angella continues. “At the end of the year, we will be picking the top dancers to join our company.” He scans the crowd, and offers a kind smile. “While I’m sure that all of you are incredible, this year we will only have room to add six students to the company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six students? Adora clenches her fist in determination. She’s faced worse odds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Throughout the year, we will be observing you and your talents as ballet dancers. However, we will not make any final decisions until we see how you dance in the final workshop performance. With that said, we wish you all the best of luck, and advise you to make this your year.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Angella finishes speaking, the group claps. The door opens again, and Catra walks in, completely neutral, not a hint of shame on her face. The man beside Angella raises a brow. “So nice of you to fit us into your schedule, Miss…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Catra.” She grins right back at him. “And no sweat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The class snickers at her response, but if Catra cares, she doesn’t show it. Adora sucks in her teeth. Late, again? Really. Is Catra actively trying to get herself kicked out, or does she just not care? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One more thing before we dismiss you for classes. As you may have heard, the company gala is taking place this weekend. We always invite our senior students to attend the performance and help out at the party afterwards, so please plan accordingly. We do expect you all to attend,” Angella says. “Thank you all!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That said, the teachers trickle out of the room and the boys bid their goodbyes before leaving for their own class. A dark-haired teacher remains at the front, hands clasped tightly. Catra catches Adora’s eye and gives her a wink, but her expression changes completely once she sees the teacher. That’s weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may call me Madame Weaver,” the woman continues. “In this class, we will be working on technique, sequences and formations three times a week. At the barre,”  she instructs, giving no pleasantries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needless to say, the girls toss their bags to the side and scurry to their positions at the barre. Adora already has her spot, and Catra manages to grab the spot on the opposing end. Their hands are inches away from the other. Adora’s not sure why, but it makes her nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start with our pliés. First position, demi, and stretch. Full grand plié and return. Port de bras forward. Full port de bras back. The same in second, third, and fifth positions, and then rise and take a balance in fifth.” She speaks a little too quickly for Adora to fully understand what she’s asking, but since she’s good at following along, she’s not too worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Madame Weaver nods to the pianist in the room, who begins the opening transition. To no one’s surprise, the girls move through the pliés seamlessly. Thanks to her rigorous stretch earlier, Adora feels nice and limber. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teacher walks around the room with something to say about everyone. Mermista needs to relax her fingers. Perfuma needs to work on feeling the support from her center. Glimmer is complimented on her technique. Adora glides through the movements, feeling confident and waiting for Madame Weaver to no doubtedly comment on how wonderful her technique is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she gets to her, she pauses. “Your name?” Madame Weaver asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to work on your turnout. Without it, your dancing suffers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the advice Adora expected to hear. She looks down at her feet and adjusts her turnout, feeling less comfortable. “Better,” Madame Weaver says before moving on. As Adora continues her plies, she watches from her peripheral as Madame Weaver approaches Catra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be on time to my class and wearing appropriate attire. You would do well to remember that your place here is subject to my approval. Do I make myself clear, Catra?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora doesn’t hear a response, but she assumes that Catra agrees, for Madame Weaver moves away and proceeds onto the next student. Something about her interaction with Catra unsettles her. It’s almost like they know each other. With a slight huff, she forces the thought out of her mind. She can’t think about that right now.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The class continues. They spend an hour on barre work alone. From there, they move on to floor work and practicing routines across the room. As much as Adora would like to admit otherwise, she struggles. She comes out of turns too slow and stumbles one time too many for her liking. Madame Weaver works quickly and she isn’t always able to catch everything she says. On the whole, she feels like she has much to improve on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When class ends, Adora sinks down to the floor and yanks open the laces of her pointe shoes. Her feet throb and she just wants to be out of them. Lunch sounds good, too. The lonely muffin she had for breakfast is long gone, and she needs more than just a salad today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Adora looks up to see Glimmer, offering her an apologetic smile. “Don’t let it get you down. The first day is always rough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard not to take her words personally, especially not after an entire class where Glimmer was the model student. She swallows any bitterness and smiles back. “I guess you’d know, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, there are days I mess up too. Do you want to go have lunch?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora slips into a pair of slippers and stuffs her pointe shoes in her bag before standing up. “Lunch sounds great. I don’t think I’m in the mood for salad though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer laughs and interlocks arms with her. The action is unexpected, but welcome. They head in the direction of the cafeteria, arm in arm. “Hard same. What are you thinking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could go for a sandwich. Grilled cheese?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In less than ten minutes, the two are in line at the cafeteria waiting to pay for their food. Adora steals a fry off her plate, nibbling at it to quell her hunger. “So, it gets better, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So much better. Weaver never gets easier though.” Glimmer chews on the inside of her cheek before looking off to the side. “She’s just very… particular.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora remembers the short conversation she overheard between Madame Weaver and Catra. Note to self, stay on Weaver’s good side. Couldn’t be that hard, right? Glimmer seems to have figured it out. “She likes you, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish she didn’t. Believe it or not, I kind of hate being the teacher’s pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No way.” When it’s her turn, Adora sets down her tray and pulls out her student ID to pay for the meal. She’s so lucky that she qualified for Bright Moon’s scholarship program. Mara and Razz were more than willing to chip in, but Adora’s never been comfortable with putting more financial burden on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Way.” Glimmer pulls out her card to pay for her food when she looks up and her eyes widen. “I am so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glimmer!” Angella meets them at the cash register, a stack of papers in her hand. “You haven’t answered my texts. How was your first class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer flushes in embarrassment and grits her teeth. “Mom, you’re holding up the line.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re right. Here, let me pay, Dear,” she says, handing the cashier her credit card before Glimmer can argue. Once they’re all settled, Angella walks with them toward a less crowded spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adora, this is my mom,” Glimmer introduces reluctantly. “Mom, Adora.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Adora. I remember you, from the audition.” Angella takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s so nice to meet more of Glimmer’s friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angella clears her throat, smiling bashfully and letting go of Adora’s hands. “Right, sorry. How was the first class?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was good. Nothing to worry about. Right, Adora?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora nods, quickly trying to swallow her mouth full of a couple more fries. “Yep! Just fine,” she says, hoping that Madame Weaver hasn’t already soiled her reputation to Angella. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. I won’t pry any more, you girls go on and enjoy your lunch, I just wanted to say hello.” Angella takes note of her daughter’s tray and rests a soft hand on Glimmer’s shoulder. “I thought we agreed on salads for lunch. We spoke about this, Glimmer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer turns as red as the ketchup on her plate. It clashes horribly with her hair. “Mom, I know. I promise, salad for dinner,” she mutters, unable to look at Adora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer pleases Angella, for she pecks her forehead and lets go of her. “Good. Keep an eye on your phone, and call me tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will. Bye girls.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adora watches after her as she leaves before following Glimmer to where she’d hunkered down at a nearby table. Glimmer angrily stabs a fry in some ketchup before tossing it to the side of her plate. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she warns before taking a deep breath, trying to calm herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough. My family can be a lot too,” Adora says, trying to make Glimmer feel better. “Was your dad the guy standing next to Angella this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I may have mentioned it yesterday, but they run the school and the company. My dad takes a bigger role in the company, and my mom the school. It works out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Must have been cool to grow up around all these ballet dancers. You must have been able to learn so much from them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer nods, swirling a fry around in some ketchup before popping it in her mouth. “Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Adora digs into her grilled cheese, she notices Catra sitting at a table not too far from them. She talks to a girl with platinum hair and she looks… upset. The tall girl attempts to comfort her but Catra moves away. It seems that Madame Weaver’s words really got to her. “Kind of serves her right,” Glimmer notes after following Adora’s gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who does she think she is, showing up late on the first day? And breaking the dress code at that! Catra’s just asking to be kicked out,” Glimmer scoffs, taking a bite of her grilled cheese. She chews, mulls it over, and smirks. “Or maybe she just likes attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer’s words don’t sit well with her. Adora crosses her arms and takes a shaky breath. “Look, I know you and Catra don’t get along. But you didn’t hear what Weaver said to her. It was… way harsh. Harsher than it should be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just how Weaver is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so. I’m not saying what Catra did was right, and I’m not going to sit here and make excuses for her. But I’m also not going to sit here and badmouth her.” Adora looks down at her plate. “That’s not who I am. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glimmer reaches for her hand. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Let’s just talk about something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Adora looks back in Catra’s direction, but the brunette is no longer there. Maybe she’ll talk to her later, see what’s going on. “So, about the Gala thing this weekend… Can you wear jeans to that?”</span>
</p>
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